My scroll alarm doesn't complete it's second buzz as I un-pocket it and stop it.

Sleep: the escape from the day's events. A time where dreams go all sorts of wild, and when you wake up, sometimes there isn't a trace of it left or it sticks like a tree.

I stopped getting dreams, nothing but a solid black. There is one other thing that enters my subconscious. It wakes me, makes me go alert, makes me unable go back to the mental void, and makes my skin damp.

Everyone from yesterday is still fast asleep. They'll likely be sleeping until noon since they don't have to prepare for initiation today.

Fishing my wound treatment bag, I maneuver around the unconscious mass toward the men's bathroom.

I dump the ingredients from my bag into a sink and sort them out. My fingers wiggle as I free them from the bandage, each sporting a thin red line across the middle joint. Hooray for calluses!

Flaps of dead skin cling to the gauze pad as I peel it from my palm, the skin and angry red. I turn on the sink and adjust its temperature before putting my hand under it.

'Aw, look who just woke up.'

Indeed, someone was stumbling towards the bathroom. His bunny slippers and onesie an oddity from the just-pants or shirt n' pants combo. I'm not even wearing my pajamas… That's to say I did not change out of my clothes from yesterday.

Jaune makes it to the door and I look at his reflection, "Hey, John."

"Hey, Victor." He yawns while moving into one of the stalls.

"Slept like a baby, did you?" I joke with a smile.

"Kind of. I'll meet up with you after I change."

"Not today, Jaune."

He hesitates, "Nightmares again?"

"No. Still reeling from what happened yesterday."

"… Oh."

After finishing his business, Jaune exits his stall and washes his hands, "Need a hand?" He volunteers with a worried frown.

My mouth tilts up a bit, "Ha ha. Yeah, in a few seconds. There's a how-to paper in the bag."

He reads it then lathers one hand with the antibacterial soap provided by the bag. I turn off my sink and let Jaune softly rub the burn area in circles.

"I'm not rubbing to hard, am I?" He asks.

"You're doing fine." My hand only registers that he is touching it.

It was silent for a few seconds until, "She's pretty."

I've not a clue whom he's talking about. Stupid pronoun games, "Who? Yang? It'll be pretty difficult to woo her since you puked on her and all." I smirk.

His lips go thin as he looks down in guilt, "… No, not her. The snow angel you fought yesterday."

Yeah, she would classify as angelic with her rich wardrobe and frame being just thick enough to not be considered skin-and-bones. That scar of hers really is an eye-catcher.

"Good to know you're a sucker for virgins." I grin as I wash my palm of the soap.

He drops the new gauze pad in shock but it stops in midair, "She what?"

I pluck the pad with my left hand and give it back to him, "Or the opposite, her color scheme leaves little to interpretation."

His eyes go wide and his cheeks turn red as my wound from the images he's thinking about, and roughly shakes his head of them.

"Y-you're just saying that because she attacked you!" He accuses while dabbing antibiotic cream on the pad.

"That too, Johnny boy." I tease while ruffling his hair.

Jaune applies the new patch and we secure it with a few rotations of gauze before finalizing the change with some tape.

"Aren't you gonna throw that away?" He wonders, seeing the old dressing go into the bag.

"Doc said not to. I'm to keep these as if to say, 'I changed my wound this many times.' "

"Like evidence." He nods in understanding.

"Evidently, my dear Watson." We both chuckle at that, "I'll see you at breakfast."

'25.'

Jaune Arc is my only familiar in a place full of strangers. Tch, 'Friend's are just strangers you haven't met yet.' is something Missus Arc always says. I met Ruby, Yang, and Weiss, but I don't consider them friends.

Ruby's first words regarding Jaune says a lot about her: she cares about others, be they sick or sad or hurt. Jaune's noises repelled fellow passengers throughout the ride here, but she approached us first. She appears as a person who would try her hardest to save everyone. Considering what we are training to save them from, that can never happen. People die, it is just a matter of how and how many.

'30.'

Yang's a feisty one. Loud and obvious, just like a bomb: exploding with a fiery rage that burns all in her path. Her little sister seems to be the only thing keeping her in check. Yang defends her from whatever that makes her cry or puts her in danger, and if that whatever is punch-able, it better run.

Weiss Schnee… there's breaking the ice and then there's what I did yesterday. Humiliating her like that in front of all those people, her pride must be putting itself back together. Should have kept my mouth shut, it's not my job to instruct strangers how to supervise.

'Stupid hindsight and its "could've, should've, would'ves".'
'Don't forget "what ifs". 35.'

My feet blur on the grass as I continue running my second lap around campus, using the statue as my starting point. I find running a relaxing exercise. Similar to how one rides a bike or a car, the vehicle travels down the path, its driver simply having his or her foot on the pedal and their eyes on the road, leaving the mind open to wander around.

Like what I'm doing now.

Seeing the statue in the distance, I run at my fastest speed as if I want to crash through the stone and keep going. I do a little hop and end up feet-first sliding to a stop next to the statue.

My heart's frantic beating starts to slow I rest on my back. With each long cycle of breath, the thumps get quieter and pressure gets lighter.

Smell the roses…

Blow out the birthday candles…

Smell…

Blow…

Roses…

Birthday candles…

I pick myself up and dust off, walking to the 'front' of the statue. The closest part of it is a beowulf, its snarling snout glares at me. Behind the Grimm is a large rock, and standing on the rock are a man, pointing his sword at the sky, and a woman, resting her double-bladed ax on the ground.

Either they're celebrating after a battle or steeling themselves up for one. The couple looks to be guardians of this school, challenging any hostile army to get past them and into this place.

Man vs. Beast.

Us vs. Them.

As it should be but never is.

My attention shifts to a humanoid shape nearing me, its three-step gait and steaming liquid confirming it to be Ozpin. I make no move to show I'm aware of him but take note of the finer details of the statue. Like how the Beowulf doesn't bare any skeletal protrusions, nothing but fur.

' T'is but a babe.'
'A fresh Conjuring Of The Black Fog.'

That the man's sword is a spitting image of Crocea Mors.

'Is that his great-grandfather up there?'
'Maybe this is a Great War monument.'

And that the hooded woman reminds me of Ruby. Hey, this is the second person I've seen here who wears a cloak.

Ozpin now stands at my right side, joining me in statue-gazing. The seconds pass us in silence, only broken by his sips.

Seconds turn into minutes, two, three, then four go by without a word shared. What, is he building up suspense to my punishment?

"Headmaster." I greet respectfully, eyes locked on the Beowulf.

"Please, call me Ozpin. That is my name after all." He requests with a trickle of humor.

"Ozpin."

"Hello." Okay, that's something.

"You caused quite the commotion yesterday." There it is. He didn't sound angry about it, more like intrigued.

"Indeed." I agree plainly, resolving to answer any questions as briefly as I can: giving yes and no inquiries a yes or no and direct, to-the-point answers to what, why, when and how.

He angles his head my way, "Do you know of Miss Schnee's current condition?"

"Yes."

He lets loose a curious frown, "What is it?"

"Fractured sternum, one broken rib, three cracked ribs and difficulty breathing." I list. Ozpin lowers an eyebrow at my accuracy.

I know what I hit and what that did to Weiss. Knowledge of the human body is power after all.

There is a delay as he mulls over my words, developing his next question, "How did it feel to win against her?"

Thankful I didn't kill her.

"Relieved the fight is over… How am I to be punished?" I inquire expectantly while turning to face him, willing to carry out his sentence.

"You aren't." Is my… not-punishment?

Beacon Academy is a college for warriors, further instilling skills and knowledge into those who continue to walk the violent path. Yet it is still a school, with rules to not break, some which I surely did not five minutes on its property!

I make a confused-duck noise.

"Although you are on school grounds, you are not yet under our jurisdiction. You are not a student but an initiate, as if Beacon was a hotel instead of an academy, and you, Victor, are one of its latest selection of employees ready to be interviewed. We may shelter you, feed you, treat your wounds until then, but not discipline you."

So, that's why we slept in the ballroom, the dorms are for the 'employees'. Depending on how the Initiation goes—the process and the result—I'll be sharing a room with some of the few dozen other 'interviewees'.

… And we'll be sleeping in the ballroom for a few more days. Man, I am such an asshole: I splash one person and everybody else… feels the… ripples.

This situation is uncomfortably familiar.

"But you're not gonna let yesterday slide, are you?" I ask with a knowing smile.

My pocket-scroll vibrates and I pull it out to see who's calling me.

"No." Ozpin smirks.

I steel myself before pressing the green button and put the scroll my ear, "Hey, Mom." I greet bashfully.

"Victoria Paulia Arc, what have you done?" Rosalina Arc yells in an I-know-what-you-did tone.

I check to make sure the scroll wasn't on speaker. It wasn't.

"Got in a fight." I admit softly, relaying my shame.

Like a switch was flipped, her tone went from angry to concerned, "How did it start?"

"Told some rich kid that manual labor isn't for the elderly."

"And she didn't take it well." Ma tacks on. She? I played the pronoun game.

'She's looking at the report.'
'Yeah.'
'To make sure I'm not lying.'
'Oh yeah.'

"How bad is she?" She asks about the heiress's injuries. I tell her them.

"And you?"

I tell her them, complaining to her how my injury is not that fair a trade. She keeps up the interview and I answer honestly.

Seemingly satisfied, she switches subjects, "How's Jaune doing? Did the medicine work?"

"He good. Yes, it kept Vomit Boy at bay until the last five minutes."

"The victim?" She sighs a tired sigh, like she was long since bored with a job she still needs to do.

"A girl's legs. She's a hitter, but her attention was switched before she went after Jaune."

"Did you switch it?" She worries.

"No."

Missus Arc either goes silent or mutes her line because I can't hear a thing. I've experienced her like this when we first met, long pauses to go over evidence to determine what to do. Like a one-woman jury, she is the final say of any and every family-wide choice.

She unleashes an attention-grabbing exhale, "I hope this the only report I get about you doing things like this." She says with expectancy, like there will be more. "Take care of your brother for me, and no more spontaneous fights."

"I will and I will." I assure her.

"You mean you will and you won't?" She double-checks sternly.

"As much as I can."

"I love you." She goodbyes. Those words makes me stop pacing. I heard her use that phrase on her eldest daughters whenever they go on Hunts, a good luck charm if you will.

And it apparently works: no matter how long it takes them, how bloodied they will get, they come back alive.

For me to get this charm means I am back out unto the bodily-harmful world, and they await my return… happily await my return.

"You too." I immediately squeeze my pocket-scroll, both collapsing it and ending the call before she can comment on how I sounded.

'The Headmaster might.'

Dammit.

" 'Victoria'?" He inquires with a soft laugh.

I perk up at the topic change and laugh too, remembering why I'm dubbed such, "My parents wanted another girl. I wouldn't be surprised that's the first thing she'll say to me if and when she calls again." I stare at my black scroll as if it'll open up with said woman on the line any second now.

"Well, if it does happen, congratulations." He gestures his mug like he was toasting me before downing the last gulp of his drink, "It is a pleasure to speak with you, but I best be off. Being the Headmaster means I have little time to myself."

He walks back from where he came, leaving me to stare at the brightening horizon, the sun just starting to peek into vie—

"Oh, one last thing." Ozpin didn't move very far as he stops and turns, his face blending into a seriousness that makes me understand why his hair's that white yet he looks so young.

'And it could be he stopped aging.'
'Or albino hair.'

"It is said that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Your first step to being a Huntsman was loud and thunderous." It was not an insult, nor a compliment, just the simple truth. "Please be careful how you tread these next four years, Victor Paul, or else you will collapse the floor underneath you… and those close to you." With his piece said, he turns and leaves.

Suddenly, he lobs the mug behind him, its flight path telling me where it'll land. I dart toward it and dive, managing to have it land on my left palm instead of the stone floor.

Ozpin didn't react to my stunt at all. It must not have mattered to him the fate of the mug when he tossed it. Rotating it reveals it to be a new mug, an all white ceramic cylinder with rounded edges and the Beacon Academy logo on it in grey. Most likely this would have been used for the first and last time had I not caught it.

It's just a mug. It's a container, a paperweight, or a blunt weapon, whatever the user wants it to be. A thing that can be used. Ozpin used it for a drink, and now discarded it. This must be a routine of his. How many drinks has he had? How many mugs has he cycled through?

"Cycled, latest selection". It's a different story with us humans, being in a never-ending war against the Grimm. Fueled by our negativity, they chase down until they shred us apart or we slay them. We wall ourselves in to slow them down so we can advance our numbers, both in population and warriors.

The warriors are fewer than the populace, needing to be physically capable and mentally certain. Instead of being birthed by women, they are birthed by institutions like Beacon, who teach them, train them, arm them, then send them off into The Black Fog to sing the songs of resistance. It is not the institution's fault that some warriors never come out, it did all it could to prepare them.

Ozpin is trying all he can to prepare the new bloods in the four years they'll reside here.

And I just used one of them as a landing pad, breaking her bones and cracking the ground underneath. Eyes twist to us, to me, wanting to see what I will do next. Like kick Yang's ass later today. And maybe have a rematch with Weiss.

What else might I do that will shake the ground I walk on? How much longer before it gives once more?

'I guess she's a heavy sleeper.'
'Well, we know she's top-heavy.'

A few other early birds sprinkle the mess as they eat their worms.

Speaking of, mine consists of a bowl of hot steel-cut oatmeal, a yellow apple, an omelet, a plate of waffles with their holes filled with syrup, and bacon.

It's a nutritious meal that can fill two stomachs. I drink the rest of the oatmeal and start on the omelet, eager to go from fumes to full. Funnily enough, I was running while on fumes, the previous exercises working out their respective areas. Hundreds of calories are used each session and breakfast is the time I get them back, along with carbs and protein.

Protein. Bacon… I pause cutting a piece of omelet with a plastic fork to grab one of the six slices. A millimeter-thick and flat, different from the curly ones Mama Arc used to serve me.

The slice breaks off where my teeth pierce. I close my eyes and relish the sounds of my jaw crunching the piece into mulch. My taste buds shriek, demanding I spit it out or vomit it away, anything to get rid of the hostile fire that coats them. They know not what that claim, they do not hear the cracks my handhold makes as I bite it, they do not feel the wood-like stiffness it has.

It does not feel like meat, it does not sound like meat, so it is n—Humanoid, female, fast-approaching.

"You!" She stabs a finger at me, a grin on her face. Something about how fast she got here makes the hairs on the back of my neck straighten.

She yanks her finger back before my teeth bear-trap it.

"Me. Any reason you are here?" I take another bite of bacon.

"Just wanted to say hi. Hi!" She waves cheerily.

I grunt in greeting. Instead of leaving, she sits across from me, talking as she goes.

"That was a pretty cool thing you did yesterday, grabbing her sword. Does it hurt?"

I look at my hand, slowly moving its fingers around, "No. It's there and I feel it, but not hurt."

"Huh. Are you right-handed or left-handed?"

"Two-handed." I smirk.

She barks a laugh at that, "I can see that, silly! I mean what hand do you use usually?"

"Hi." I wave my left.

"Hi!" She waves her right.

"Hello." A male introduces himself.

Nora's teal eyes light up at the voice, twisting her head to see the green-clad newcomer standing there with his arms folded and looking at her like she got in trouble… again.

'Oh god, a literal pinkeye. Two of 'em.'

"Oh hey, Ren! Ren, meet You. You, meet Ren." She gestures at us in turn.

"Victor." I correct, nodding.

He nods back. "I take it Nora didn't scare you that much?" He asks it like that was normal for Nora to zoom into a stranger, which seems so because she did it to me twice now.

"Not really." I get back to the omelet. There isn't much nowadays that scares me. That startle me? Yes. That surprise me? Yes. That put fear in me? … They've changed.

"Boo!" Nora tries to do all three.

"Ah! A ghost!" I fake-panic. She giggles and makes 'spooky' noises.

"Hello~" We hear Yang sing as she walks over to our table in the back corner of the mess. Jaune and Ruby are beside her. It looks like the blondes are trying to not focus on each other, their feelings about yesterday still present. Ruby being between them makes her look like a buffer, a peacekeeper, her wary silver eyes darting from man to woman.

'Loads cleaner than what I thought.'
'I don't wanna know.'
'The jam filling of a blonde sandwich.'
'I didn't wanna know!'

Ruby has… a carton of milk with her bowl of cereal? Isn't the point of milk in the bowl to drink it after the cereal? Is she washing down her milk with more milk?

Jaune has a stack of waffles and a muffin. A 'lighter' version than what I have, considering I dismissed him from our daily workout, otherwise we'd be having the same meals.

Yang has… about the same breakfast as me. I have this much food because I gained this much of an apatite, so what's her reason? A closer look at Yang reveals the skin I'm able to see to be well-toned. Each arm could casually lift this table or seriously flip it on its back, each leg could casually push this table a few feet or seriously kick it in half.

'A fellow Bodymaster?'
'She looks so, and eats so, but doubtful.'

"Hiya!" Goes Nora.

Yang glances at my tray curiously before looking at me, grinning mischievously, "Aren't you worried all that food'll slow you down?"

"Asks the slow one." I grin back, pounding my chest in emphasis. "So eating that will let you move as fast this table."

Jaune got busy looking somewhere the wasn't Yang or her boobs, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks.

Ruby and Nora fail at hiding their snicker.

Ren looks down and shakes his head, the smallest of all smiles on his lips.

Yang gets her jaw back under her control, "Ohoho, really? We'll, at least I'm not wearing a bald-cap." She flaunts her mane with a flick of her hand.

"No." I agree with a frown, shrugging in indifference. "You're wearing a wig."

Yang's upper lip raises, her brow furrows down, and, interestingly, her irises blend into orange for a sixteenth of a second. A micro-expression of disgust. She didn't like it when I made fun of her hair, but to call it fake must be the one thing I have to say to get her to attack me, not that I actively want her to.

Ruby shuts up and moves faster than my eye can see, 'reappearing' between Yang and me with her arms wide and feet apart, like a human barricade, her tray on the table.

Speed must be her Semblance, then. She might have moved as fast as light for all I know, but this must've happened before if she reacted this quickly.

Jaune backs up from the possible ground zero.

Ren locks onto Yang as he unfolds his arms and tenses himself, preparing to intercept.

Nora just laughs harder.

"OK, you know what—"

"Yang." Red-cloak warns.

"Relax, I'm not gonna bust Vicky's balls just yet. You, move." She commands Nora, who scoots to end of the table. Yang reoccupies the spot across from me, sliding away her tray and puts her right elbow on the table. "Put 'em up."

"Uh…" I raise my right as if hesitant to answer a question the teacher asked the class. Yang doesn't bother hiding her eye-roll as she switches arms.

We connect hands, hers trying to crush mine.

"… Alright," Ruby begins hesitantly, placing her tiny hands on our gloved ones, "Here's how it's gonna go: no using the other… uh, yeah. No having any of us help you—Hi, I'm Ruby!— and no breaking things. Got it?" The last one was directed mostly at her elder sister, who nods. Ruby turns to m…

Her silver irises look like the business-end of a gun as her face is the picture of zero-tolerance, a round in the chamber, ready to shoot.

Comply or die.

"Got it." I say simply. Even as her frown swaps for a grateful smile and glare relaxes with a nod, I still see the gun as it turns to her handhold.

Relief wraps around me, feeling like I dodged an actual— Thud. "That was easy." Yang mutters before sliding back her tray. Wait, what?

My hand is palm up on the table, looking like a dead spider. I was so focused on Ruby's Gun that I didn't feel my forearm move. I was hypnotized.

'Make sure she is anything but hostile towards us.'

Okay, that is really~ concerning. And the worst part was that when Yang's sister looked at me, I did not see a different version of her, I only saw the Ruby from the airship, who was also the Ruby from the ballroom. Which means all she has to do is steel herself, and the Steel bores down, too.

"Aw, don't look so sad, Vicky—"

"Nora?" I interrupt her with a peeved look, internally glad, "Victor or Vic. Please."

"Yes, sir, Victor, sir!" She chirps with a salute, looking straight ahead, face set in eager determination. The sight makes me laugh.

Yang

I guess he's saving his strength for our our bout later. Nora and the green dude sit next to me and Ruby and Vomit Boy sit next to Vic (more like Vomit Boy's sitting at the other end up the table, far away from me). Breakfast went by in silence until the ginger asked if we were really gonna fight today.

I answer her, "Why else would I be eating this much?—no." I stop Victor before he could comment, looking at him pointedly.

He dares to look confused, "What?"

I squint, silently telling him: You know what.

He double-dares to look confused, then turns to Ruby who's shoulders are shaking. Traitor.

Once I eat everything on my last plate, I get up, "C'mon, Vic."

"Alright." He stands, picking up his tray and looks around.

"You can leave it, we'll take care of it." String Bean notes, so Vic does.

"You're gonna fight now?" Nora bounces in her seat.

"Hold yer horses, Nora." Vic laughs as a parent would their kid who wants to go a carnival, while getting ready to go to said carnival. "We'll walk some of this off, then we fight."

"Where?"

He looks at me thoughtfully, "Still wanna ring?" What? Is he giving me a ring?

Oh. I cock my head, "We did agree to do it there."

"Do what there?" … Did he just forget what we'll be doing?

I was about to answer with a you're-an-asshole 'fuck you', but realize how the words can be misinterpreted. Ha ha, joke's on you. "Bruise your ass." I say instead.

"Kiss it afterwards to make it feel better?" He sounds so polite about it.

"I'll make sure to do that." My sweet words say one thing but my cracking knuckles mean another.

Either the meaning went over his head or he understood me loud and clear, because he smiles ear-to-ear. "I've no doubt you won't."

We didn't decide where to go, so we just let out feet take us wherever they want.

As we walk, I decide to look around us, take in the sights. Beacon Academy, one a few places around the world that trains Huntsmen and Huntresses, and I'm here. And my little sister's with me.

It's like nothing has changed much: we're still together at a school. But, she is two years younger than me, so while I still have my Signal friends, Ruby doesn't. She'll have to more or less start over.

Which is good for the long run as I can't be there for her forever; she has to grow up and head out to sea, to do her own thing.

To not need me to be her anchor.

"Something botherin' you?" Vic asks, the first words we said so far.

"It's nothing." I dismiss, or try to because he raises an eyebrow. "So, why don't you like being called Vicky, Vicky?"

The eyebrow lowers, "Plenty reasons. One is it sounds like 'baby,' they're new, soft, naive. I'm not of that."

"So you're old, a hard-ass, and a know-it-all." I joke. He scoffs.

"Two is what it rhymes with: icky, sickly, shitty, other two syllable words that end with 'Y'."

I have an idea of what he's getting at, but just to be safe, I grip his shoulder harshly, making him stop, "Words like Ruby?"

"No. When I hear Ruby, I think of your sister, who is kind, talkative, joy-inducing. I have no reason to be hostile towards her because she has not yet done anything to warrant it." He explains in that emotionless tone from yesterday night, not making a move.

So, unless he's provoked, he won't do anything. "I'm just looking out for my sister." I declare, sliding my hand off.

He faces me with a flat look, "You're such a mama bear." He smirks.

It takes some effort to smile back, "That right, so don't mess with her if you know what's good for you."

"I won't, Ma, you can rest easy." He teases with surrendering hands.

"And don't call me that in front of Ruby."

"I won't." His face then goes somber, "She already calls you mom."

Calls you mom.

Mom.

Ruby's panicked cries for her pound my head, and I twist it around to silence them.

"How… How did you…" I couldn't finish my sentence.

He looks around us before beckoning me with his uninjured hand to follow him. I do.

I can't believe I let that slip! great job, me, now a stranger knows about us. And yet, he seems to know why, or at least a really good idea. Maybe something similar happened to him, too.

Victor

This is a rather sensitive topic I'm walking into, so I need to have it while sitting down somewhere nice and secluded. She wouldn't want anyone else knowing about what I have learned.

I find a number of benches that fit the criteria and sit on one. As an extra precaution, I will the area around the bench to be still, creating a sound-bubble of sorts. No vibration, no noise, meaning we can speak as loud as we want and no one will hear what we say.

Once Yang gets comfortable, I start, "You act less like a sister and more like a mother to Ruby."

She blinks, not expecting the words I gave her, "It was that obvious?"

"As obvious as your hair. I mean, any negative mention of Ruby sets you off on a manhunt."

She gives an apologetic smirk, not to me, but to said girl, "Yeah, she tells me I am overbearing at times, but that's my responsibility as her older sister."

"My eyes don't agree with the 'older sister' bit. Blonde hair to her brunette, lilac eyes to her silver. You and Ruby are sisters that look too different… You two take after your respective mothers." Her brows flick up then furrow in suspicious surprise.

She turns her body to face me, one arm draped over the bench while the other holds up a finger, "First off, I take after my dad. Second, good guess. Mind sharing how you were able to figure it out so easily?"

"Sure. It involves lots of staring." My mouth says, my gaze snapping to Yang's bosom.

'Seriously?'
'Too much eye-candy, not enough boob-candy. Plus I'm helping you get your point across.'

"Oh, really?" Her tone was of half-intrigue.

"It's less about staring, and more about searching." I correct.

"For what?" She wonders.

"Emotions. The saying goes that the eyes are the window to the soul. Well, I learned that the face and body give bigger cues to what a person is thinking."

"What am I thinking right now?" She challenges.

Finally able to break boob contact, I find her face covered in amusement. Which tells me she was not offended by his ogling.

"That you want to kiss me." My mouth says confidently.

'Could you stop, putting words, in my mouth?'
'I gave you, the possibility, of Yang's tongue, in your mouth. You're welcome.'

Said girl goes from amused to smug, "Nope. I'll give you one more chance, if it's right, you get the kiss." The bedroom eyes are back.

"… You found it funny that I was talking to your 'girls'." I answer.

"Good job. Now, close your eyes." I obey while relaxing my face.

I hear her body shift closer. Seconds later, I feel her lips on me.

More specifically, my forehead.

I open my eyes to pout once the "kiss" was over.

"You didn't say where to kiss." She taunts, then looks above my eyes, "What's under there?"

"Tattoo." It is pointless to lie to her.

"Can I see it?"

"I don't know, can you?" I smile.

Yang eye-rolls, "May I see it?"

"No."

Yang continues to stare, waiting for me to elaborate.

"Once I show it, I'll have to tell you its double-edged sword of a story. How 'bout this: You tell me exactly why Ruby calls you mom, then I will let you in on what my ink is all about."

"But you have an idea why, right?" She says more than asks.

I nod.

She looks down in thought. After a few seconds and a deep breath, she starts her story.

Yang

Ruby's mom passed away when we were kids.

She was a Huntress like my dad, going on missions around the world to protect the people against Grimm.

They were also our parents, so while Dad would be away doing Hunter things, Mom would be home taking care of us and vice versa.

One day, it was Mom's turn to go on a mission. Ruby and I watched her carefully pack for it. She said she would be gone for four days, but with how much she was packing, it looked like she was going to the other side of the world.

She gave me, Dad, and Ruby our goodbye kisses and left. The four days ended up on a Saturday, yet she didn't show. As Dad tucked us in for the night, Ruby asked him why Mom hasn't come back yet.

"Something must've come up ta keep her at work, darlin'. Mommy'll be back before you know it." He said.

We believed him. This was Super-mom we're talking about: baker of cookies and slayer of giant monsters! She's fine!

"Before you know it", three weeks went by.

"Mommy's home!" Ruby would cheer whenever she heard the front door, only to find someone else.

We finally got news about her. Ding-dong, Ruby answers the door, and it was our uncle Qrow. That's Crow with a Q.

He is the family drunk, always buzzed and never sober. He stumbled into our house, too drunk to hug Ruby. Dad led him to the couch and demanded why he's drunk as he is.

He slurred to Ruby more than us that Mom isn't coming back from work. The monsters took her away.

I was old enough to understand what he meant. Ruby wasn't though, and all but demanded uncle to go and rescue Mom from from the monsters. She eventually came to terms that Mom was gone forever.

It was the middle of the night when Ruby started screaming, begging and pleading for Mom not to leave. It took me a second to realize she was having a nightmare and rush to her side of the room.

Words didn't work, shaking her didn't work, so I slapped her. Once she recovered, she hugged me hard, crying tears of joy as if her pleas were answered.

Ruby's mouth sped out apologies once she noticed I wasn't Mom. I stopped her and told her, "If it makes you feel better, keep calling me that."

"B-But, yer not…" She sniffs.

"Come on and try, Ruby." I hug her.

"… Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Stay with me. Don't let go. I… don't wanna lose you."

"It's okay, Ruby, I won't go anywhere."

"We fell asleep in each other's arms. Dad was too drunk from his wine cabinet that he didn't wake up from Ruby's screaming, so we didn't tell him. Why would we? The three of us just found about Mom's fate, and for him to hear Ruby calling someone else mom after all that, it wouldn't look sane." I finish with a sigh.

And then there were three.

Victor asks after several seconds, "Does this… agreement… still stand?"

"Whenever it's the two of us, yeah. Ruby all but panicked when I got accepted into Beacon." I laugh.

"I bet."

"So, enough about me. Show me the ink." I grin.

He cautiously looks around us before sliding up his cap. He must have an embarrassing one if… It's a triangle. A wide, black triangle pointing down, with the shaft disappearing into his hairline.

"That's a little plainer than I…" I stop as he slides down the cap and pulls up his left sleeve, and on the forearm is a black line. Pulling of the glove reveals another triangle on the back of his hand which connects to the line. I stand corrected, it's an arrow. That was an arrow on his head. Heh, arrowhead.

After he covers those, he reveals another arrow on his foot that crawls up his shin. He puts put his sock and shoe back on, lowers the pants' leg and waits for my verdict.

"You got some hairy legs." I laugh.

"Your head suffers the same problem." He counters with a frown. It takes much willpower to not cave his head in.

"Are those gang tattoos?" I innocently ask with a bit of a hard edge in my eyes. I don't want Ruby to be talking to him if he is. He could be a drug dealer and convince her to take some Speed.

She already moves fast enough, don't need to have her time travel.

My question looks to have angered him because his eyes harden. But, he stops and looks away, not to avoid answering, not to think up a lie, but as if the concept never crossed his mind and he's debating whether it is true.

He concludes with a head-shake, "No. Would you call a group of black-belts a gang?" His voice is dead again, making think it's his serious voice. It's kinda sexy.

"Well, that depe…" I trail off, looking at him as if he grew a second head. "That's a black-belt? Let me see." I reach for his arm but he jerks it back, making me stop.

Tentatively, he offers his limb. Carefully, slowly, I grab it and slide back the sleeve and remove the glove to get a better view of the tat.

A few of my friends have tattoos. One of them proudly bears his arms for all to see. The color of the skin affected is changed from flesh to a purple, for example. But that's all the tattoo changes, there's still goosebumps and there's still hairs.

Whoever put this tattoo on must have used a different method or instrument. The black arrow looks to be carved into Vic's skin, a groove, like the rifling of a barrel.

This is his black-belt, this is a black-belt, and it hurt like a bitch to put on. It had to.

"What did you do to get these?" I let go of the arm.

He slowly rotates it, watching the ink move along, speaking more to himself than to me, "I had to learn plenty, to master plenty, and only then I became one of the few."

That's both vague and telling at the same time, "What did you do to get these?" I ask again. It's a trick I use on Ruby to get her to admit something. Just repeat until they give.

He realizes this, too, looking just like me a minute ago, reluctant to tell, "There are five successive disciplines I had to learn called Points, each with there own slew knowledge I had to memorize and muscle-memorize by heart."

Muscle-memorize, eh? "And these 'Points' are?"

Bald-cap presents his left hand, fingers spread, palm facing me. He makes a fist with only the pinkie sticking out, "Master the Body so you are fit and capable."

Down goes the pinkie, up goes the ring, "Master the Mind so you are calm and rational."

Down ring, up middle, "Master the Aura so you are strong and enduring."

Middle, index, "Master the Semblance so you are swift and deadly."

Only the thumb remains, "Master the Soul," He goes thumbs-up, "so you are one with perfection."

"Wait, wait, wait, the Soul?" I hold up my hands to stop him. I know what a soul is, but to 'master' it? How does one do that?

The other Points make sense: the body is what we use to fight, with punches and kicks to attack our opponent's body to win the fight.

The mind is what we use to think, to consider, to plan up tactics and strategies.

The Aura is what we use to keep fighting and survive normally deadly attacks.

The Semblance, while no two people have the same one, can let a person do some crazy shit, like my Strength Taker.

"Yes, the Soul. Very carefully." He answers with smug smile before I could ask. Oh, right, my face.

"Even though I want to keep talking," Arrowhead stands, reaching for the sky and his bones softly pop, "we've an appointment to keep."

I completely forgot about that. "Lead the way, Arrowhead." I insist, eager to see how good he is. That little skirmish with the Schnee didn't count.

Victor's arm swings out like a pulled branch, the back of his injured hand slapping my tit and I halt, "Do not call me me that in front of anyone; you are the only one who has seen, so you are the only one who knows." Not even a look my way or waiting for a response, he resumes walking.

'Only one to see and know'? Bullshit, he and the blonde guy were next to each other the whole ride to Beacon. "So does Vomit Boy, right?"

As if my words were a marching order, Victor stops. Blondie sure does. Vic moves on in silence, no doubt aware that he answered my question.

It probably wasn't a happy reveal.

Victor

"Well, this simplifies things." I muse as we stand in front of a prominent sign at the gym's door.

USE OF SEMBLANCE NOT ALLOWED

Underneath the words are a list of 'no doing this or that' examples. My favorite one involves acid-spit. Seriously, why did he or she think it was a good idea, knowing what his or her Semblance does?

'Maybe he or she is an asshole.'
'Or then was the time his or her Semblance was gained.'

"Wouldn't want this place to do a house of cards after we're done. I said after!" Yang laughs as I blow at the building.

"So, what do we not do to each other?" I inquire.

"You see this?" She flicks her hair fabulously, "Don't touch it."

"You see this?" I wave my injured hand in front of my face, "Don't touch it."

"Alright, let's go." I pull open the door for her and we head inside.

"There you are, we were waiting forever!" Nora moans, darting to us.

There are a lot of 'we's. It looks like all of the other almost-first-years came to watch us duel.

"Hey, guys, are you here to watch us fight?" Yang calls.

An assortment of yeahs ring out.

"Good, cause we have a show for you." She promises with with waggling eyebrows. One arm snakes around me, pulling me close. "Victor here thinks he can beat me using only his legs, as in he can't grab or block or anything."

"How do we know he's not gonna hit you once and it's over?" A male asks the million-lien question.

"I won't let him." Yang and I both squint in confusion and look at each other, then jerk our heads back because our noses kissed.

She releases me, an unsure chuckle chiming from her lips.

'Rather intimate to think that.'

I peer over the heads of the collected mass, looking around the gym. "Is there a mat that we use or do we—" I stretch my leg, shooting my foot's heel into Yang's face, her Aura pulsing a whitish yellow. She lands on her back in a daze and the crowd quickly gives us a wide birth.

"You bitch! C'mere!" She laughs, sounding like I just splashed water on her. She gets up and starts splashing back.

My body moves on its own, maneuvering away from her speeding fists. Occasional kicks and knee are thrown in to vary it up. It's not a one-sided attack either, as I lash out during some of the disturbingly many openings.

Her swings go too far, her hips turn too much, she's slow pulling her limb back. All so alluring, so tempting, yet I can only believe them to be deliberate actions. It's like she wants me to hit her. Why? What does she gain from such damage? I mean, yeah, she's getting away with this because my arms are not permitted, but that can't be it.

The boobalicious blonde throws a right hook 'too hard' and twirls around, her right arm coiled to whip out a backhand.

Yeah, no. I snap a front-kick to her back in interruption, her front bumpers cushioning her fall.

Her mane facing me lets me notice something about it a bit more clearly. As I hit her, her Aura pulses, that much is a given. But as her Aura pulses, her hair blink-and-you'll-miss-it brightens before going back to normal.

Yang pushes to her feet and… dusts herself and fixes her outfit while turning to me? Uh-uh, no way she is calling it quits after that. She leisurely walks toward me, "Okay, I think we should call—gotcha!" Her hair glows, she moves, and her right hand's picks me up by my throat. The glow dies.

I fed her Semblance. Hitting her Aura gives her power, and she used what I gave her to speed to me.

Even with the pedal of a rose I am not to hit this woman, for she will hit me even harder.

She uppercuts my stomach once, then hits my cheekbone, and again, but this time she releases my neck as it connects, launching me some feet back.

Kipping up is a fancy way to get from my back to my feet, but it's not good to do when an opponent is advancing like Yang is now.

Sure enough, Yang tackles me as I straighten out and we land with her legs in between mine. She leans over me, grips my biceps against the floor, and cocks a knee.

I squeal like dying pig after Yang all but flattens my testicles. Fight's over.

"Ooh~" She winces, as does the audience with varying noises, "I didn't hit you too hard, did I?"

No, you hit just soft enough to geld me. "Still have a penis." I groan.

"Just wait a few hours and you'll be fine." She gets off.

"Says the fee to the male. Or are you a hermaphrodite?" I weakly roll over and push up to my feet, being careful not to agitate my balls. I can blab all I want about pain tolerance. Nutshots. Fucking. Hurt.

"Isn't it obvious and you need some ice." Yang's smug tone and expression switch to concern as I 'face' her, my right cheek sticking out and colored dark blue.

"Here." Ruby comes forth with a cloth-wrapped something, frost-mist emanating from it. I take it with a thank you and put it on the bruise.

The crowd surrounds Yang and me, complimenting (the men giving me condolences) and praising along with handshakes and pats. Some even hug Yang, close friends from before Beacon.

Others give me tips on what do to when I'm down so I won't get smashed again. I respond gratefully, even though I already knew their advice. There were several maneuvers I could've done, like get up differently or lift my hips to avoid the knee, yet I did not.

I do not want a queue of challengers.

'If you wish to apologize to Miss Schnee, ask the receptionist for directions. Ozpin.' Was a text I got not long after my 'crushing' defeat. Of course he was watching us. How else would he send coincidentally timed messages?

I save the contact and make my way to the infirmary.

The receptionist sees and recognizes me, pausing the use of her keyboard, "Ah, hello." She greets warmly, "The Headmaster said you'd be coming."

"Am I able to speak to Weiss Schnee?"

"Certainly. Her room is down this hall. Make a left at the end, third door on the right."

I thank her and follow the directions. Soon, I'm at Weiss's door but I don't announce myself, not yet.

I focus on my cheek. Hidden by the now-warm cloth, my orange Aura flames on, and I feel the bruise shrink back to normal. Pocketing the cloth, I check my reflection with my pocket-scroll's screen: It's like I was never socked.

I rap the door. "Come in." Says Weiss. I pull open the door and see her sitting on the gurney currently posed like a chair.

Her two-handed grip on her scroll tightens, game over sounds are heard from it soon after. Her brow furrows, eyelids narrow and jaw clenches as she sees me enter. I softly close the door and lean against it, staring at the heiress blankly.

Her hair is loose, draping down her head like silk. She is still clad in only a hospital gown, there's an IV inserted and a heart-monitor clamp on her right index finger, which the increasing beeps-per-minute further inform me of her mood. Her torso glows with a baby-blue flame.

She is rightfully furious with me: I humiliated her, wounded her, and likely made her a laughing stock.

' "Weiss Schnee: Heiress to a Shady Company and a Terrible Fighter." '

She forces herself to close her eyes and inhales. Four seconds pass, then she exhales. She does this a few more times until her heart beats once a second. On the final exhale, she opens her eyes at me.

"You have a lot of nerve coming to me after what you did." Weiss calmly states.

"You could say I'm nervous." I calmly joke, not expecting her to find it funny.

Her glare deepens, letting me see a little more of myself in her, "Why are you here?"

"To give you an apology: It was never my intention to harm you as I have. I do not expect you to forgive me soon, later, nor at all, and that is fine. I do not deserve it."

Her one functioning eye scans my rueful face for any sign of deception. It does not have any.

Weiss sighs like this encounter exhausted her, easing onto the 'chair', the right eye joining its milky twin in staring ahead, "Go."

I obey without a parting remark nor gesture, closing the door behind me.